Shades of Red
by SakuraBubbles the Muffin Child
Summary: A Star Ocean 3: Till the End of Time fanfic that centers around Albel's side of the events of the game. We get to see his interpretation of things as the story unfolds as well as the opportunity into the past that makes him so wicked. Eventual shounen ai.


Hiya! SakuraBubbles the Muffin Child here with my first SO3 fic, or at least the first one I've put up on I absolutely adore Albel Nox and find his character incredibly intriguing—obviously to the point of writing this fic, eh? There's really not very much to say about it, and as of right now, I'm not sure if I'm going to write the entire way through the events of SO3 or just the events on Elicoor leading up to Moonbase, considering that this story revolves around Albel's perspective of what happens.

Hmm… I suppose I should warn people…? This fic **will** include shounen ai pairings as well as light shoujo ai (for Nel and Clair, dawgs) and will eventually live up to its M rating, IF you know what I mean. As for now, the rating is for language, as for later, violence and other such nasty things.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Star Ocean 3: Till the End of Time. I own a copy of the game and guide book, as well as a memory card, PS2, and wireless controller to play it with. But, other than those, nadda. :weep:

* * *

One

Albel Nox wasn't a morning person by any stretch of the imagination, so for about an hour after dawn when he woke up, he stayed wrapped up in his dark blue sheets, his eyes wandering the room and settling on things for a few moments before looking to something else with bored interest. He didn't have very much in his room as far as decorations went, but he had a few things here and there that had significant meaning in his eyes… and others that he just didn't know what to do with. Some trinkets he'd found on his numerous journeys to the Bequerel Mines were placed on the far end of the desk beside his bed and one of the gifts he'd received from Woltar when he was younger lay broken on the windowsill, collecting dust and the rays of the morning sun.

He had a portrait of his mother, who he had never known except from stories his father and Woltar had told him, hanging on the wall nearby the door leading out into the castle hall. She had a beautiful, feminine face, and it was said by Woltar that Albel had most of his mother's looks rather than his father's, though the black-brown hair matched his father's perfectly, while his mother had bright blonde hair, or at least it looked that way in the portrait.

Next to his mother's portrait was one of his father and Albel when he was a young child, maybe close to ten years of age. He vaguely remembered hating having to stay perfectly still as the painter did his work and set the tone of the painting. He also recalled that his father, who always had liked to be active, thought of it as torture as well. Afterwards, his father had treated him to ice cream, a new thing around Kirlsa back then, so Albel forgave his father quite quickly for putting him through the bothersome and boring process.

He had books lining the shelves of his thin wooden bookcase that he hadn't read and never exactly planned to. It was something he never had time for and couldn't be bothered with making time for it, though he read in his youth and while he was healing from the incident that lost him his father and the use of his left arm. Not that it was completely useless—he had trained vigorously in order to be able to use it in combat, but he would never be able to hold a sword nor a pen in that hand again. The gauntlet he wore was more for protection than offense and gave him something to hide the injury and the displeasing burns on the arm, as well as his pride.

Finally, Albel pushed himself into a sitting position and rubbed at his eyes with the palm of his right hand. It was, as usual, a cold morning in Airyglyph, as it was the winter season and Airyglyph in general was colder than most of the surrounding cities. Despite that, Albel didn't wear very much so as to not impede his movement on the battlefield. He also would hate to dress the same as those around him, so he wore a lighter color than the stone castle of Airyglyph was probably used to. Besides, it was fairly well-heated within the castle, so Albel showed no remorse in wearing such an outfit.

He placed bare feet on the rug that covered the majority of his floor and stood up, stretching his arms and cracking his neck and back. He stared at the bandages around his left arm and began to unwrap them, slowly exposing reddened, once charred flesh. He did his usual morning exercise therapy to keep the arm in good shape, bending his elbow and straightening back out again, moving and curling up each finger, and twisting around his wrist a few times until he knew for sure that the arm would be fine, though he doubted that anything wouldn't be well.

Albel very quickly tugged off the cotton pants he wore to bed and tossed them back onto the bed behind him, wanting nothing more than to be rid of the bothersome trousers. He pulled open the top drawer of his nearby dresser and plucked a few things out of it, ignoring, as he usually did, the little trinkets and such that sat on top of the piece of furniture. He got dressed quickly enough and started to pull up his gloves, afterwards putting on a small bracer around his right wrist and a buckler over his right shoulder. He ran a hand through his hair a few times to brush through the mixed locks and reached for the baldric that was resting on the desk nearby once he was completely dressed.

He shivered as a cold wind passed through his window and worked quicker to tie his baldric around his waist, hoping not to catch the long wraps that contained his long, braided hair under the belt. Once done, he went to his window to grip the black frame of the glass and pull it inside.

Or, he was going to, when something in the sky caught his attention. A large… thing was flying swiftly through the sky, though upon further inspection, Albel realized that the object was actually falling. He leaned out of his window, curious and amazed by whatever was happening as his mind raced through ideas of what it could have been, the first idea being that it was a falling star. That was quickly omitted, however, for a few reasons including that it was too large to be a star and that it was a foolish idea in the first place. Next, he came to the conclusion that it might be an Aquarian weapon and after it crashed near the gates of the city, he closed his window quickly and gripped the gauntlet that had been lying next to his sword.

Albel grit his teeth together as he fastened his gauntlet tightly around his left arm, the metal cold against once burnt skin. He barely remembered ever having trouble with tying the bothersome contraption on, but there was a time, when he was first using it, where he needed Woltar's help to put it on every single day. Nowadays, he would scoff at the thought of being helped in any way with something like that. In fact, he doubted that he'd ever need help with anything at all in the first place.

With a few more fastened knots and after testing out to see if he could still move with ease, Albel deemed it good enough and headed out of his room to the spiral stairs. After rushing down those—and skipping the last three steps with a quick jump—he looked around for any sign of Woltar, captain of the Storm Brigade of Airyglyph.

Not seeing him and instead witnessing a clump of confused and scared soldiers, he sneered and headed toward the other tower where he was sure Woltar would be, far at the top and observing what was happening below. On his way, he overheard the soldiers prattling about what they thought it was and that the dragons were restless even though Vox, Demetrio, and Schweimer of the Dragon Brigade were trying their best to keep the beasts civil. Not a big fan of dragons, Albel continued up the stairs, only to meet with Woltar halfway. The old man seemed surprised that Albel had been looking for him, as evident in his widened eyes upon seeing the young man.

"Albel…?"

"What was that, old man?" Albel asked quickly, not bothering with hellos and the like. He wanted to know what the "falling star" was that had descended and crashed into the city. Woltar cleared his throat.

"We're not sure just yet, but the leaders of the three brigades have been called to our majesty's table. That includes you, boy."

"Of course it does, but what about Vox? He's got his hands full controlling those pests of his."

"You mean the dragons? Then I suppose we must wait until he is finished," replied Woltar with a slow nod. He stepped down the stairs with Albel in tow, listening intently as the elderly man continued, "We should go, however, so as to not disappoint the king. Vox will be there in time."

"Or maybe he'll get stepped on," Albel grinned to himself. "Then perhaps I'll actually like the damn beasts."

"Hush," Woltar quickly said, "watch your tongue. I know that you and Vox have had your rivalries, but there is no reason to wish a comrade's death, especially when we're dealing with warfare. If we do not trust our own companies, our enemies will quickly catch on and easily sever through offenses and defenses."

"Are you kidding? This is Aquaria we're talking about," Albel replied as he raked his right hand through his black-brown bangs. He held the door open for Woltar and once out in the hall, he went on, "The Aquarian forces wouldn't know defense if it danced naked before them."

"Hm… I suppose if that is your view on the enemy, I am not one to change it," said Woltar, though he disagreed with Albel's cocky statement. If Aquaria didn't know proper defense techniques, they would not have lasted this long. Airyglyph had only been able to bite at Arias a few dozen times, but most of the fighting remained on the fields between towns. That kept the citizens of the Aquarian cities safe, for the most part.

Most of the fighting was done by Woltar's own Storm Brigade, the chosen fighters for the front line of offense. Albel's Black Brigade took up the defensive position and filled in the gaps in the Storm Brigade once offense was needed. There were, of course, times when the Black Brigade would fight on its own, as it was a heavily defended and offensive group of soldiers. With the heavy armor and large, thick broadswords, they were slow, but anything they could not accomplish, Albel did, as he was very fast and very strong, something his enemies would not expect after dealing with his much slower men.

He hadn't lost a single battle since turning sixteen. Before that, however, was a different story completely and he refused to acknowledge the failures of the past during such important times. Well, he tried to, at least. Just being around Woltar reminded him of the times he would go to the old man's mansion with his father when he was a child and he would play with the wooden swords and tear up the pages of various different books. He smirked, thinking about the latter of the two activities and then forbade himself from thinking about it any longer.

"Lord Albel, Count Woltar," spoke a soldier to their right as he headed up to them. They turned to him—a "lowly" soldier of the palace, not in a brigade—and he bowed before going on, "Duke Vox is waiting for you upstairs in the throne room."

"Ah, he's done with his winged nuisances?" Albel asked, though he wasn't searching for an answer. He kept walking forward toward the stairs as Woltar thanked the soldier and hurried along after the young man.

"I said to—"

"Mind my tongue, yes," Albel interrupted with an annoyed tone. The two walked up the stairs that led to the throne room, one obviously slower than the other, and halted upon reaching the top. Vox, a tall man with dark gray hair and a tight, well trimmed moustache and goatee combination, nodded to the two other brigade captains. He looked a little tired after his trying endeavor to keep his dragons calm and Albel was grateful for the dragons for once, for it meant less ridicule from his so-called superior officer. Albel's Black Brigade was the newest of the three, and therefore it meant that he was at the bottom of the ladder, or at least close to it, even though he had successfully defeated Vox in handfuls of duels.

"The king is this way," Vox informed them with a slight tilt of his head, "though I'm sure you knew that. He wants to speak to us about that object from the sky. There were people inside of it: two men who stepped right into our hands. I believe the bigger one is undergoing interrogation as we speak."

"There were people inside of it?" asked Woltar, amazed. Vox nodded and held the door open for the two other men, more for Woltar's sake than Albel's. The three brigade captains filed into various seats, not surprised by the empty chair where the king would soon sit. No conversation was exchanged between the three men in the room and Albel found that he liked the silence, crossed his arms over his abdomen, hunched slightly, and allowed his eyes to relax until the door opened to reveal their king. Woltar moved to stand in respect but the king spoke.

"No need to stand for ceremony, Woltar. This is no time for formalities."

Airyglyph XIII sat in his chair at the head of the table as expected and leaned back into the chair, looking over the brigade captains with serious eyes. A soldier standing by the door straightened when the king addressed him with a simple, casual sounding question, "Well, what was it?"

"We believe it to be a new Aquarian weapon, Your Majesty," spoke the soldier. "We have the two crewmembers locked up in the dungeon."

"Very well," replied the king with a nod. "Continue your investigation and step up the pace of the invasion of Arias. If the enemy has indeed brought a new weapon into active service, then time is of the essence."

"Yes, your Majesty!" the guard saluted his king and exited the room. After a moment, Arzei looked over to Woltar and asked what he thought of the situation. Taking a moment to respond, the old man thought about it.

"If this object that has fallen on our city is truly a new Aquarian weapon, then we are in trouble. Aquaria has shown an admirable ability to wage war as of late."

Vox scoffed into the curled fist he had set before his mouth and rested his arm on the table, saying, "Lord Woltar appears to lack confidence. Airyglyph has your Storm Brigade cavalry, Albel's Black Brigade heavy cavalry, and my winged Dragon Brigade for good measures! They stand no chance against our legions, Sire. Their weapons have proven themselves little threat to us. Anything they throw at us, we return in spades."

Woltar seemed concerned with Vox's overconfident attitude about the war. Despite the way the two clashed, Albel and Vox had similar views on Aquarian warfare and the exact same egotistical way about them. He knew why Albel might have been acting that way, but Vox was a different story entirely.

"Pride comes before the fall. Surely a measure of prudence would do us no harm," the elderly man said. Suddenly wondering if Albel had fallen asleep, Woltar looked to him and added, "Right, Albel?"

"Heh," chuckled the young man, opening his eyes, albeit barely. "If they're the enemy, we kill them. If they aren't, we dispose of them. Simple!"

Or at least it seemed it.

"If only things were as simple as you say…" Woltar replied.

"Regardless," started Vox, "we have yet to see any evidence the object is a new Aquarian weapon. My men have already begun to interrogate the crewmembers. They'll talk before long."

"The Inquisitor?" Woltar seemed surprised. At Vox's nod, the old man continued, "He always seems to enjoy his work a little bit too much."

Albel smirked upon hearing that, as he imagined that it was some Aquarian woman being whipped nearly to death by the crazed Inquisitor. Not that Albel liked the fat man all too well, but he knew that he would get the job done, even if he was a creepy, fat, disgusting man.

"He is the best," Vox replied to Woltar's earlier statement. Still, the old man was obviously bothered by the fact that such a ruthless man was in charge of taking care of the persons in the dungeon below.

"As long as they do not die before they talk. We are not barbarians—even prisoners have certain rights, you know."

"You speak absurdities. Prisoners have no 'rights.' We'll hurt them until they squeal," said Vox with a vindictive tone. Albel was surprised that the king allowed Vox to argue with Woltar and continue doing it, though he felt no need to stop it.

"If they die as a result, then so be it," Vox added coldly. "You've grown much too soft in your old age, Woltar."

Albel opened his eyes a little wider this time and sighed out, "What's the big deal? Just find out whether they're enemies or not." Smiling a bit too widely, he continued, "If that's too much trouble, I'll be happy to take care of them."

Woltar looked to the youngest of the three brigade captains with worry, but it was Vox spoke next, though there was hesitation in his voice. Albel was smirking the entire time, thinking of how long it had been since he'd killed someone. Too long, in fact: a day and a half.

"… We know what we have to do, m'Lord," Vox said, looking to the thirteenth king of Airyglyph. "Don't worry—if we do kill them, we'll make sure they cough before they croak, eh?"

"I certainly hope so," Woltar cut in, obviously concerned with how sincere the duke was with his promise.

"That will be quite enough," the king said with a shake of his head. "Now is not the time for us to haggle over such matters."

"Indeed it is not," replied Vox as if he was looking to a chance to redeem himself in his nephew's eyes.

"Vox, continue your interrogation," Arzei commanded. "Woltar and Albel, return to your posts. We are counting on your knights. You are the pride of our great kingdom."

Nearly in unison, Woltar and Vox replied with a humble, "Yes, Sire," but Albel kept quiet, resting his chin on top of his right palm and his elbow on the table. Arzei awaited his affirmative response.

"… Albel?" Woltar lightly touched the young man's gauntlet to get his attention, and Albel continued to smirk.

"I'd like to see them. The ones that were in that thing."

"Ah, but why?" asked the king, looking slightly confused. Albel sat up and looked the king in the eye, something most people might have trouble doing. Naturally, Albel had no problem with it, considering both their history together and the type of person he was in general.

"No real reason, I'm just curious. If it would be no trouble to allow such a thing, of course."

"I see no problem in it," replied Arzei. Albel nodded and stood up, bowed his head to the king, and headed out of the room. Vox sighed irritably and Woltar shook his head.

"That boy…"

/-/

Albel turned down the torch-lined hallway that would lead him to the prison below the castle itself. It was musky and dark down there and the captain of the Black Brigade normally wouldn't bother himself with going into the dungeon for any reason, but his curiosity got the better of him and he found himself in the first room of the dungeons of Airyglyph. The watchman seemed surprised to see the highly regarded captain and bowed his head.

"Where are the crewmembers of that object that fell from the sky?" asked Albel, not wanting to waste any time.

"Well, the big one is locked up in the cell and the smaller one is undergoing interrogation as we speak," answered the guard. "I think they might be done though…"

"A pity I missed the show," Albel grinned. "I'll have to see if they're truly finished."

He went forward and opened the door to the torture chamber to see the guard that had been standing just inside the door halt and turn to him.

"Ah! Lord Albel! We were just finishing the interrogation process."

Albel looked past him to see the Inquisitor facing the guard and Albel. Chuckling darkly, the fat man said, "He fainted on me just a moment ago, so I was gonna throw him back in the cell."

"It's a man?" asked Albel, surprised. As if to prove it, the Inquisitor stepped to the side to reveal a young man with blue hair, suspended from the shackles hanging from the ceiling, leaning heavily to one side. Intrigued, Albel stepped forward to inspect him and looked at the man's face with slightly widened eyes. He heard the Inquisitor say something before exiting the room, leaving just the guard, Albel, and the prisoner.

"He seems young," said the guard in hopes of starting conversation with Albel, but the knight didn't even turn around.

"I still can't believe it's a man," Albel replied rather absently. "Aquaria usually foolishly favors sending out their women to do the work of men." He gripped a small fistful of the boy's hair and forced his head up so that he could get a better look at his face. "Then again, you probably couldn't tell that this was a man from far away."

He let go of his hair and looked him up and down again. "Aquarian scum." He took his right fist and sent it into the boy's stomach to see if he'd wake up again for more questioning, since he was sure that the Inquisitor hadn't gotten any answer out of him. When the young man didn't stir, Albel turned away and looked to the guard.

"Did he talk at all?"

The guard merely shook his head, so Albel gave the boy another hard smack, waited to see if his eyes would open, and then stepped away when they failed to do so. He looked back at the guard and ordered him to take the young man back to the cell and keep him under surveillance.

"There may have been more than two of them in the object, as well," Albel went on, his eyes falling on the boy again, who hung there so pathetically. "Be sure to tell your lieutenant as much."

"Yes, my lord."

Sneering at the memory of the young Aquarian as Albel headed up the stairs back into the main section, he wondered why he'd even bothered going down in the first place.

/-/

As he had nothing better to do with his afternoon, Albel stayed up in his room and decided to reorganize the books on the shelves in order of author rather than by title. Most of the books were lined with dust but some, like a diary, did not go unused. The diary wasn't Albel's—he had no time for such a thing—but rather, his mother's, and even that, he didn't exactly have the heart to read the entire thing. He did know, however, that the last few pages were about how Clarissa was excited about the birth and how she couldn't wait any longer to meet her new son or daughter.

Clarissa never did meet Albel, her only son. Albel, looking at the light brown diary with pained eyes, remembered the day he had found out just why his mother was dead. Back in their home in Kirlsa, he had run up to his father's room with tears in his eyes, though he wiped them away and forbade himself to cry anymore. He had to look strong in front of his father, so he refused to let Vox's words get to him any longer. He pounded on the door. "Let me in!"

The door was opened in mere moments and Albel looked up to the brown eyes of his father, Glou Nox and still managed to hold back his tears. For a little bit longer anyway, until the guilt he thought he was placed under overwhelmed him and he sobbed, his arms wrapping around his father's waist. Woltar, who back then had still been earning grays, looked to the six-year-old in alarm. Glou pried his son off of him and knelt down to meet him eye to eye.

"What is it, son?" he asked, his voice deep and soft. His bangs were short and brushed off to the right side of his face while the majority of his hair was either short and spiked up or pulled back into two thin braids that, in his kneeling position, reached the floor. Albel, as he was rather young, only had two small ponytails at the time, though they were hidden by the longer locks of his dark hair. The edges were slightly mixed with a bright yellow color and, although he couldn't explain it, the color was natural, probably from his mother, since his father's was so dark.

"V-Vox!" Albel sobbed, his fingers tightly gripping his father's shirt. "Vox said that I killed Mom!"

Glou, taken aback by the question, looked to his son. "… Vox said what?"

"He said that I'm the reason that Mom is dead!"

Woltar stepped forward and looked down to Glou with a grave expression on his face before he exited the room in search of the young Duke Vox, who was only ten years older than Albel and already had a nephew, who happened to be the prince of Airyglyph. Vox's older brother was indeed that: much, much older. Due to the fact that they had different mothers, Vox's brother, the current king of Airyglyph, was a whole twenty-three years older than him. Therefore, even though Vox was sixteen at the time, his brother was thirty-nine, and the prince was fourteen.

However, Albel was only six years old and did not need the constant tormenting that he received from Vox almost daily. He sobbed into his father's shirt as Glou carefully picked the boy up and placed him on the bed. He sat next to him, lightly rubbed the back of his only son to calm him, and tried to come up with words that the boy would understand.

"… You didn't kill your mother, Albel," he said slowly, leaning back and sneaking his hand under the boy's chin to get him to look up. Though Albel's cheeks were practically as red as the eyes he'd inherited from his mother, the boy listened well to his father's words. "Your mother had been very sick throughout the pregnancy with you, although neither your mother nor I had any idea of that fact until she came into labor."

"Yeah, but labor means that she had me! And that's when I killed her!" Albel argued, the facts in his head jumbled and basically nonsense.

"No, Albel," his father went on with a firm shake of his head. "You did **not** kill your mother. If she could hear you right now, I'm sure that she would give you a good spanking for thinking such a thing. There were complications with the birth, Albel, and you had nothing to do with that."

"But Vox said… that if I hadn't been born, Mom would still be alive," Albel replied with a sniff. "It would have been better that way… then you and Mom could be together."

"Even if that were true," Glou said calmly, "we wouldn't have been happy."

"Why not?"

"Your mother wanted a child, Albel. She would not have been happy without one and if she was not happy, then I wouldn't be happy, either. We both knew that we would be happy with a child, and that child was you. One day, you're going to be the strongest man in the world, right?"

"Just like you?" asked Albel innocently, his eyes widening just a bit. Glou smiled and nodded again, prompting Albel to shake his own head and go on, "I could never be as strong as you, Daddy. That's impossible."

"Haha, I doubt that. Someday, you will surely surpass me," replied Glou, his smile never fading. "And Albel… when that day comes, your mother will smile down from the heavens upon you. You will make us both very proud parents, you hear?"

Albel, now a young man of twenty-four years, looked over the final written pages of his mother's book. His father had given it to him soon after the conversation that day after what Vox did, telling him to read it whenever he felt lonely or scared. There was only one thing that truly scared him, but he had valid and logical reasons for being scared of fire. It was something he had little problem with, anyway, so there was no need to make a big deal of it.

He would never admit to being lonely, of course.

He closed the book and shoved it somewhere among the other books, suddenly losing interest in cleaning up the shelves and leaving a few books still scattered about. He went over to his bed and crawled into it, but not necessarily to sleep. His left arm, which was uncovered save for loose white bandages, was draped over his masculine chest rather lazily as he stared up to the ceiling.

"… Maybe I'll go back to Kirlsa," he said to himself. "Airyglyph isn't incredibly exciting… and Kirlsa is warmer anyway. Or maybe I'll go to the Training Facility and kill someone. Ugh, but Shelby is at the facility." His eyes settled on the portrait of his mother again. "… Off to Kirlsa, then."

He got up to put on his gauntlet again when suddenly, there was a loud knock on the door. Grunting, he opened the door to reveal Vox standing in the doorway. Albel, at first, wanted to slam the door shut again, but opted not to.

"The prisoners have escaped," Vox informed him quickly, as though he couldn't afford to spend any time with the younger captain. "They killed the Inquisitor, too."

"Hm. Impressive. The one I saw looked very weak, so they must have gotten help," replied Albel. He tried to keep his left arm out of sight in front of Vox as much as he could, though it seemed that the captain of the Dragon Brigade was too preoccupied with the matter at hand.

"They escaped a little while ago, probably through the aqueducts," he said, resting the majority of his weight onto his left leg. "I have some of my brigade out looking for them."

"Good for you," Albel snapped. "Any reason you're telling me?"

"Well," started Vox with a frown, "Count Woltar thought it would be wise of you to help my troops."

"And how do you propose I help?"

"I'd let you ride a dragon, but that doesn't seem to suit you, does it?" asked Vox. The smirk was evident in his voice, but Albel's own mouth was tightly closed, teeth grit together. He wouldn't let Vox get to him, not anymore. They were older now and Vox couldn't control his life any longer. Not that he ever did, Albel reminded himself.

"I'm not going to seat myself on one of those hideous things. I prefer walking, fool," replied Albel hastily. "And I don't see why I should have to help you in the first place."

"Don't flatter yourself; it's not my decision," the duke reminded him. "The count ordered me to take you along. Something about 'trusting your comrades.'"

"How boring," snapped the knight with a shrug. "I see no need for such a thing. He should know by now that I hate you with my entire being, so there's no point."

"Likewise," replied Vox with a glare, something crimson flickering in his dull eyes for a moment. "… Regardless, it's an order. Get your things together."

Albel exhaled a small annoyed noise, much like "tch," as Vox turned away, his cloak draping behind him as he started down the flight of stairs. The knight raked his hand through his bangs and shut his door, trying his best not to slam it. He stepped over to his desk and grimaced, naturally not wanting anything to do with the duke or his precious brigade. More correctly, Albel's _father's_ precious brigade, a brigade that was supposed to reign supreme with Glou Nox, then later Albel, as its captain.

Cursing his very existence, Albel angrily strapped his gauntlet back on and exited the room, wondering if he would ever find someone strong enough to kill him.

* * *

Reviews are nice. :bows and runs away: 


End file.
